One day left

The past few days have been full as only moving days can be: packing, cleaning, seeing friends one last time. On our last day of cleaning, we waved goodbye to Suomenlinna from the 10 pm ferry, and I thought how nice it would be if all goodbyes could be said as a boat pulls away from a dock on a beautiful evening. Now we’re staying in a neighborhood called Pasila, right next to the biggest mall in the Nordic countries. It feels very different from Suomenlinna, but it’s still quiet, efficient Helsinki, a place I’m really going to miss.

Goodbye, Suomenlinna!

I’ve been trying to figure out how to preserve the feeling of peace and calm I’ve had here. Last night was my first failure at this — and we’re not even back yet! We’ve been trying for months to arrange health care coverage through Marc’s job, and last night it became clear that we might not have it, so I started the process of applying for gap coverage through the health care marketplace. I’m glad we have that marketplace; the alternative would be to go uninsured. That said, the fact that we need to find health insurance at all is a reminder of the many ways we Americans have failed each other. Not having to think about health care coverage (or premiums, or deductibles, or copays) has made our lives simpler and better for the past two years. Is the Finnish health care system perfect? Of course not. But are you going to be on the hook for a million euros if you have an emergency? Absolutely not. The feeling of security is hard to overstate.

In the end, while I was frantically filling out the application, Marc’s work came through with the coverage. The whole thing put me on edge and made me think about how I’m going to approach the daily inconveniences and worries of U.S. life.

On one hand, living here has made me feel sad for us Americans. For the most part, Americans are kind, generous people, and we ought to have systems that work for us. If Americans could experience what Finns take for granted — excellent public health care, public transportation, public safety, good schools, and a basic sense that the bottom won’t fall out — I think most would choose to live like this. It makes me mad and sad that we have to expect so little from all levels of government. I don’t think anyone in America believes anymore that the big problems can be solved, and living here has made me realize we should be able to expect better.

But living here has also made me more optimistic about the U.S. When my grandparents moved to America, Finland had it pretty rough: It was a poor country recovering from a string of wars. My grandmother told me stories about being evacuated from her home, about lining up for a tiny bread ration. Within the lifetimes of people alive today, Finland has become a peaceful, efficient country that people across the world look to as a model.

Finland has its problems, too. Systems are under strain as the population ages and people have fewer babies. It has the same undercurrents of xenophobia, racism, and nationalism that feel so dangerous in the U.S. And yet, daily life here feels quiet and predictable. You can let your guard down. I feel like if Finland has gotten to this point, it’s not impossible for the U.S. to get better, either. It’s hard to see how the U.S. is going to claw its way out of the current mess. But it doesn’t feel as impossible to me as it did before we came here.

We have one full day left in Helsinki. We’re going to visit a few of our favorite places and then try to get a good night’s sleep before we repack our many bags and take the train to the airport.

I’m deeply grateful that we’ve had the chance to live here. Kiitos ja nähdään taas!